Darkness Is Quicksand
by Maria the Ravenclaw
Summary: Take one wrong step and you are in too deep; do not try to fight it and you might survive. A series of oneshots following Draco Malfoy from his father's imprisonment to the Battle of Hogwarts. Rated M for death and torture in later chapters.
1. I

_AN: Written for:_

_The Mix it up Competition – Draco and Narcissa;  
The Eurovision Competition - Norway: write about someone who is angry (at least 500 words);  
The Hunger Games Trilogy Competition – Alma Coin: write about someone making bad decisions(at least 600 words);  
The Harry Potter Chapter Competition - __Through The Trap Door__: Write about a character feeling strongly about something(at least 500 words)._

_Word count:2,311_

_This chapter is the 1st place winner of the "Mix It Up Competition" on the HPFC._

* * *

I

On the platform, he had not noticed, too absorbed in the rage and humiliation of having been hexed into a grotesque, inhuman form and thrown aside, like some unwanted would-be freak show attraction. Now, he mentally berated himself for failing to see that even his mother's well-applied cosmetics and her indignation at Potter and his colleagues were not enough to hide the aura of tiredness that hung about her.

There were no signs a stranger would see – those every Slytherin could expertly conceal, but the empty chair at the head of their dining table had affected the way she arranged her hair, settling for a simpler style, and the way she held her silverware, as if it had got heavier over the terrible last week. Her relationship with food also seemed to have been altered, as the plate before her was nearly empty.

Draco directed several questioning glances at Narcissa, hoping she would justify her apathy towards dinner with something mundane, like having just been to tea with someone, but she remained silent. Taking the lack of response as confirmation of the unpleasant obvious, he proceeded to stab his filet mignon and cut it with unnecessary violence. How dare they reduce his mother to that subdued wreck?

At last, when Draco had finished eating and Narcissa had finished examining the engravings on her fork, the table was cleared. There was no dessert.

"Are you alright, Mother?" he finally asked.

"Yes, dear, don't you worry about me; go get some rest."

But Narcissa sounded drained, disheartened, tense – anything except "alright". Obviously Draco had expected her to be upset, but he had also been certain she would reassure him that the Dark Lord would come to his father's aid, and that they would get their revenge. Finding his mother in such a… fragile state came as an infuriating surprise.

He sighed, and aware that nothing he could do would be of help, thought it best to simply retire to his bedroom. He wished his mother good night and walked away once she had replied.

Each step he took up the grand staircase brought with it a new surge of irritation. Bloody Potter! What did he think he was playing at, trying to get both Draco's parents killed? Was Potter jealous that Draco actually _had_ parents? Or perhaps he did not care how many families he tore apart, as long as he could show once more what a hero he was – hmph, hero! Pretentious bastard, more like.

He would not even have made it out of the Ministry alive, if Dumbledore had not stepped in to save the day; ought to keep his deformed nose out of other people's business, that one – but, ah, of course he would fight for his precious protégé, Potter the perfect pupil! It was no wonder they got along so well: both were power-hungry celebrities who liked to play humble and kind.

By the time Draco had reached his desired floor, he was having much difficulty preventing himself from blowing up the entire house by accidental magic, and needed to repeatedly warn his hands and feet not to destroy everything within their reach.

He changed into his nightclothes. The delicate task of undoing the buttons on his shirt proved itself quite difficult at first, but soon he was able to focus on it, and when he had finished buttoning his silk pyjama top, he noticed his jaw was no longer clenched.

The effect was short-lived, however. Now that the distraction was over, his mind's eye produced the horrifying image of Lucius Malfoy, the wealthy pure-blood, the fine wizard – Lucius Malfoy, Draco's _father_! – shoved into a disgusting prison uniform and confined to a barren cell, while Potter rested peacefully in his filthy Muggle house, undoubtedly very pleased with himself.

Draco desperately needed to wipe that imaginary grin from his rival's face, but making justice by his own wand was impossible, at least for the time being. Thus, he resorted to walking feverish and pointless circles, in an attempt to work off his energies, and inadvertently snarled bits of his inner monologue.

It was always Potter – Potter, his blood-traitor sidekicks and the Mudblood Granger; always the same _vermin_ who were forever eager to cause Draco as much damage as possible. They were all very reckless indeed to disrespect the Malfoys, but for years they had been so _lucky_! Potter and his friends had no ability, no talent, no intelligence, but they acted like their every drink was spiked with Felix Felicis. That was the problem: luck was unpredictable and unfair.

With quivering hands, Draco grabbed the snake-handled vase that sat on his dresser and threw it ferociously against the wall. Smashing the vase brought no relief, and as if that would serve as a strange punishment to the broken object, Draco snatched his wand and pointed it at the scattered pieces of china.

"_Reparo!_" he bellowed, so that the shards zoomed towards one another with such force they were broken into smaller fragments.

"_Reparo_," echoed a gentle voice from behind him, and in an instant the vase had been fixed and flown back to its place.

He spun around to see his mother standing under the archway that separated the sitting area from the rest of his bedroom. They both put away their wands and Narcissa sat on his bed.

"Why is it that he always manages to ruin my life, Mother?" he yelled. "What have I even _done_ to him?"

"You've done nothing, darling," said Narcissa, who knew exactly who 'he' was.

She did not seem in the least surprised or offended by the shouting – Draco had been much too composed at dinner – and patiently listened to the endless ranting and raving of her son about Harry Potter, Dumbledore, the Aurors, the Minister, the Wizengamot, and anyone else who had had any responsibility for Lucius's arrest.

That inevitably reminded Narcissa of the time when her husband lost his post as a Hogwarts governor. Draco had been infinitely more displeased than Lucius, who was the one to tell him that his, Lucius's, influence over the school would stay unaffected, and that those eleven imbeciles would not be missed. But alas, Lucius was not there this time. And what was Narcissa to say to her son, that his father's reputation would stay unaffected, and that his freedom would not be missed?

"I almost wish he wasn't an orphan," growled Draco, "so I could get _his_ father thrown to the Dementors."

"Well, he had a godfather who spent plenty of time with Dementors, and Bella has taken care of him, hasn't she?" said his mother with a small smirk.

Remembering Sirius Black's death made Draco chuckle, but when he spoke there was no amusement in his voice. "I doubt he's much shaken, though. Potter only cares about other people when he gets to play the saviour. _He_ must be the one to suffer, to hurt... And I'll get him, I swear, even if it's the last thing I do!"

At once Narcissa regained most of her usual vigour. It had been preposterous to think she could keep acting like a vulnerable grieving wife.

"Draco, that's enough," she said, her voice firm yet kind. "You have every right to be angry, but we must be cautious. The Dark Lord is displeased with our family, and we certainly do not need Aurors trying to capture you as well."

"Sorry, Mother," he replied in a much calmer tone. Only then he realised he had a slight headache.

"Quite alright. Just don't do anything rash."

He nodded half-heartedly.

"Come here," she said, patting the spot next to her on the mattress.

Draco took a deep breath and sat beside his mother. Narcissa placed an arm around him and allowed him to mutter a few more words of discontentment, before deciding to put an end to the episode.

"We'll be fine," she soothed. "Your father will soon come back to us. But for now just sleep, yes?"

He nodded again and bade her good night once more; her reply was accompanied by a kiss to his forehead. Then, she got up, put out his candles and left the room.

Exhausted from the eventful train ride and his subsequent breakdown, Draco did not take very long to fall asleep. However, troubled by the motive behind the eventful train ride and his subsequent breakdown, a couple of hours later he found himself awake.

In the dead of night, any doom seemed more impending. That was it, Draco had to act. It was no child's play anymore; the Dark Lord's return had announced the start of a war, and Potter had made it clear he had picked his side. It was now Draco's turn to either make a move or watch his family's honour go down the drain. Obviously he would choose the former – after all, he had promised to make Potter pay for what he had done.

Draco knew those thoughts would keep him awake for the rest of the night, so with the certainty that resuming his pacing of the bedroom would not suffice, he pulled on his dressing gown and set off the wander the shadowy corridors of Malfoy Manor.

oOo

Draco had just entered the drawing room when there was a burst of green flames and a figure appeared in the fireplace. Startled, he instinctively took a few steps back, hand darting towards the wand in his pocket. The intruder strode into the room; Draco recognised the mane of untamed curly hair silhouetted in the moonlight as belonging to one of the few people he would never dare attack.

"Who's there?" she barked. "_Lumos!_"

Her gaunt face and wild eyes, which had been disturbing enough last Easter, looked even more unsettling by the dim wandlight. Draco had the urge to scurry away from his aunt, but she had already seen him.

"Ah, it's just you," said Bellatrix, relaxing. "Most convenient; we have matters to discuss."

She extinguished her wand and swished it to set a few candles alight instead. Then she perched herself on a sofa, next to the side table on which stood the ornate candelabra. This new illumination did nothing to help her sinister appearance, intensifying Draco's desire to leave.

"Do we?" he said. "We can discuss those matters in the morning, whatever they a -"

"_Sit_," ordered Bellatrix, in a tone that convinced Draco it would be unwise to disobey.

He made to sit on the armchair farthest from the Dark witch, but she immediately hissed, "Closer, Draco, or we'll be overheard!", so he moved to the opposite end of her sofa, wondering who might overhear them in the Manor, in the middle of the night.

"The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you," she whispered bluntly, her eyes darting in all directions to ensure they were alone. "You are to come with me to a meeting next week."

Draco was certain he was still asleep. It seemed hardly possible that he had heard correctly: what in Merlin's name could the Dark Lord want with him, a sixteen-year-old? It was bound to have something to do with the catastrophe at the Ministry, but that meant...

"Why does he wish to see me?" he asked, instead of dwelling in grim suppositions.

The question seemed to bother Bellatrix, for she gripped the arm of the sofa so tightly her black claw-like nails left marks on the wood, but showed no other signs of annoyance.

"He has plans for you, Draco... _Great_ plans," she sibilated.

They were being given a chance, then. And Draco would not waste it: he knew that if the Dark Lord was granting his family such an opportunity, then he still had an ounce of faith in them. It was as if the Universe approved of his resolution to avenge the downfall of his father and was providing him with the means to do what he had been planning.

His mother had told him not to make rash decisions, but evidently she would not want him to go against the Dark Lord's will. Besides, if he fought alongside the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, there was not much threat any Auror could pose.

Draco's brief reflections were interrupted by Bellatrix, who had slid across the sofa and decided her fingernails would be happier to dig into his right arm. Unfortunately, the boy's flesh was not as resistant as the ebony wood, but he did not flinch. "And I trust you will not disappoint him, Draco," she said, "unless you would like to make failing the Dark Lord a tradition in your family."

"Of course I will not disappoint him," he guaranteed, and considered adding that he did not need her threats or her scorn to comprehend how privileged he was, but his aunt's satisfied leer, which displayed many rotting teeth and not a trace of sanity, stopped him.

"Very good," said Bellatrix, who had finally let go of his arm. "And you must not tell anyone about this."

Draco drew a breath as if to say something, but Bellatrix was quicker: "Not even Narcissa. The time will come for her to know."

Again he meant to speak, but- "I'll find a way to get you out of the house without her noticing," she said irritably. "Leave those trivialities to me, Draco; think only of the glory of serving the Dark Lord."

And so he did. In the following moments, with a sneer half-hidden in the shadows, he thought of how he was going to join the Dark Lord at two years younger than "his most faithful servant"; it then seemed ridiculous to have been scared of her. In the following days, with his chin held even higher than usual, he thought of how he was going to prove that the Malfoys were as worthy and valuable as ever.

* * *

_AN: That was the longest thing I've ever written. How about leaving the longest review you've ever written? ;)_


	2. II

_AN: Written for:_

_The Hunger Games Competition – Mockingjay: write about the Dark Mark;  
The Harry Potter Chapter Competition – The Elder Wand: write about Lord Voldemort and the prompt "mesmerising"._

_Word count: 1,351_

_Taking into account the reviews I've received, I've made a few minor alterations to the first chapter._

* * *

II

When the grandfather clock in one of the sitting rooms of Malfoy Manor finished its twelve nocturnal strokes, there was no longer anyone to hear it. The two people who had arranged to meet there at midnight had just left.

Draco was not sure where his aunt had taken him. Most of the place was hidden in the dark, and what little of it was illuminated by a dying fire seemed to be decomposing. Peeling wallpaper, a few crumbling pieces of furniture, moth-eaten curtains — everything was as far from imposing as it gets.

In the small pool of dim light, with his back turned, was a man clad in long black robes. Beneath a layer of dust, the mirror over the fireplace struggled to show his reflection, which was like nothing Draco had ever seen. The man's skin was of alarming pallor, his eyes were scarlet and his features were hauntingly distorted.

Draco quickly looked away from the mirror and for an instant stood transfixed, wondering why anyone would want to look like that. Then, his arm was roughly pulled down. That was his aunt's way of reminding him to bow. Draco obliged, glad he had been warned not to make eye contact with the Dark Lord before the proper time.

"My Lord," said Bellatrix, whose nose nearly touched the rotting carpet. "I have brought the boy."

"Good evening, Bella," the Dark Lord greeted, still facing the other way.

His voice was high and cold, and sounded as close to a snake's hiss as it was possible for a human. Despite its eeriness, the power emanating from the voice's owner, and which laced just those three simple words compensated for everything the dingy room lacked.

"Rise," commanded the Dark Lord.

They rose, but Draco kept his head down. His eyes wandered, futilely attempting to make out what lay out of the firelight's reach. Something large moved – _slithered_ – on the floor and he focussed on the hem of the Dark Lord's robes instead. The elegant black fabric shifted to reveal a pair of extremely repulsive bare, long-nailed feet, walking towards the young man.

When the feet stopped, Draco could feel the Dark Lord inspecting him.

"Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy..." said the snakelike man. "Your father has deeply disappointed me."

Bellatrix gave a discreet snort. Draco briefly glared at her boots.

"I am most displeased with him," the elder wizard continued. "Yet I find that you, Draco, might be very useful. I have summoned you here to give you the opportunity to prove whether the Malfoys remain faithful to the Dark Lord.

"I have a task for you. But first I must be sure that I have your full allegiance. Are you willing to join my supporters and defend the noble cause of eradicating impure blood from the wizarding world?"

Join his supporters? Could it possibly be that Draco was to take his father's place in the Dark Lord's circle? He remembered his aunt's whispers about "great plans", and enthusiasm chased away all unwelcome thoughts of the shabby room and the revolting feet.

"I place myself at your service, my Lord," he said, amazed that he had been _invited_ to become a Death Eater.

"Very well. Are you ready to take the Dark Mark?"

"Yes, my Lord" answered Draco, suppressing an excited grin.

From then on, Bellatrix stayed silent, and watched the scene with an eager, perverse sort of pride.

"Kneel."

Draco knelt.

"Hold out your arm."

Draco held out his left arm.

The Dark Lord rolled up the sleeve of Draco's velvet robe and pointed his wand at the boy's pristine skin. What looked like shapeless grey smoke appeared on Draco's forearm, twisting as if trying to arrange itself in a more defined shape. "Do you, Draco Malfoy, swear unwavering loyalty to the Dark Lord?"

"I do so swear," said Draco, now uncomfortably meeting his master's red-eyed gaze.

The vague smudges darkened and began to form an oblong design, but the outlines were still blurred.

"Do you swear to heed your master's every order, and to never question them?"

"I do so swear."

And there it was, jet black. The skull and the snake. The symbol of the Dark Lord, granted only to the few who were deemed worthy of such honour; a fraction of the most powerful Dark wizard's sovereignty etched onto Draco's flesh.

"Do you swear to serve your master for as long as you live?"

"I do so swear."

With a sudden, involuntary sharp inhale, Draco pressed his eyes shut. His arm felt like it was on fire. He instinctively attempted to move it away from the wand, but found that he could not; the Dark Lord's spell held it in place. Soon the fire had spread through Draco's whole body, sparing not one nerve, as if the Dark magic were leaving its imprint on his every cell. A scream left his lips, but he retained enough self-control to stifle it and resort to gritting his teeth instead.

As suddenly as it had come, the furious pain subsided, and was replaced by a dull burning.

Despite knowing he should have expected it to hurt, Draco tried to give his Mark a betrayed glance, but his Mark would not allow it. The fresh Dark Mark, still sporting a faint green glow around the edges, was alluring, seductive... downright mesmerising. It would hypnotize anyone into adoring it.

The Dark Lord seemed utterly unaffected when he ordered his new servant to stand up. With some difficulty, still recovering from the branding, Draco got to his feet.

"Draco Malfoy, my youngest Death Eater," said the Dark Lord, just as coldly as before, though his lipless mouth formed a trace of a smirk. "Impressive."

That new title accompanying his name was the best gift Draco could receive at that point in his life. It was the title that would clean up his family's reputation and earn him the glory of helping rid the world of Mudbloods and Muggles. The Dark Lord's chilling eyes were a problem anymore, for Draco looked through them, beyond them, and into the splendorous future that awaited the youngest Malfoy.

"Now I may say what I require of you. Your task is of utmost importance. And you, as a Hogwarts student, stand in the best position to carry it out. I shall be direct, as we do not have much time: your task, Draco, is to _kill Albus Dumbledore_."

The Dark Lord let those words hang in the air for a moment. Draco was completely astonished. To kill _Albus Dumbledore_, the one they called "the greatest wizard of his time", the only one they said the Dark Lord feared... The responsibility was enormous, but it was not a burden; it was a privilege. _To kill Albus Dumbledore_... The words danced inside Draco's mind, echoing, dreamlike. His aching forearm hardly mattered.

"Use whatever means you may see fit, and have it done by the end of the school year," Draco's new master instructed. "I am certain you understand we cannot afford that a mission so crucial is not properly accomplished. Therefore, should you fail, you and your family will receive the proportional punishment."

The just-Marked Death Eater swallowed hard. The threateningly low tone in which the Dark Lord had finished his sentence made it clear what he had implied.

"But should you succeed, you will have performed an extraordinary feat; you will have been of immeasurable utility to our side. And Lord Voldemort does reward those who demonstrate their value."

"I will not fail you, my Lord," promised Draco. He needed to succeed – and, Merlin, how he _wanted_ to succeed.

"I trust you will not. You two are dismissed," said the Dark Lord.

"Good night, my Lord," said Bellatrix, inclining her head. The corners of her aubergine-coloured lips were curved upwards.

"Thank you, my Lord." Draco bowed in like manner, and they departed.

The last words Draco heard that night were "well done", in his aunt's voice. However, he did not see the unearthly twinkle in her eyes, for the enchanted tattoo on his skin was far too entrancing.

* * *

_AN: Don't forget to review! :)_


	3. III

_AN: After a ridiculously long hiatus, I'm back. And obviously it's too late to participate in the challenges I was writing this for, so I'm not gonna worry too much about the prompts, but I'll still use some of them._

_The Hunger Games Competition – "__If desperate times call for desperate measures, then I'm free to act as desperately as I wish.";_

_Word count:738_

* * *

III

Dusk fell and Draco was still sitting in his family's library. Certain books, he had discovered, could be far more appealing than bright summer days. His hungry eyes only left the page when the door burst open and interrupted them.

Two people in black travelling cloaks stormed in. The first was Draco's mother, whose unusually brisk and heavy walk did not match her graceful physique. The second was Bellatrix, who nearly jogged after her sister.

"Is it true?" Narcissa demanded, but her uneasiness was apparent.

"What?" Draco asked.

Narcissa clicked her tongue impatiently and in very few strides she crossed the room. Her hand darted towards Draco's left sleeve and yanked it up. With a thud_, _the volume he had been holding fell to the floor.

It was a paralysing sight: the symbol that had brought more fear than power to the Malfoys now blemished her son's skin. Narcissa's hand covered her open mouth as she slowly sank into the seat beside Draco. She fixed a vacant stare at her knees.

"We were with the Dark Lord," said Bellatrix, in response to a questioning look from her new apprentice. "He has told her of the plan."

"We'll run away," Narcissa blurted. Then she looked up. "We'll run away, we'll hide, we'll do something –"

Bellatrix was ready to argue, but it was Draco that spoke. "No, Mother, I want this."

The Dark Lord's best lieutenant grinned and crossed her arms triumphantly. It disgusted Narcissa that Bellatrix encouraged this absurdity as if oblivious to her nephew's naiveté.

"Draco..." said Narcissa.

"I _chose_ to take the Mark," he continued, indignant. "I want to fight for the Dark Lord. Father would want it, too."

"Your father would never want you to be a Death Eater." The last two words came out in a choked voice Draco had never heard from his mother.

An unbearable guilt washed over Narcissa when she thought of everything she and Lucius had hidden from their son. They had hoped Draco would never need to know his father's occupation was far from glamorous, and now there he was, idealising his future serving the Dark Lord. The agony that grew in Narcissa's chest began to sting behind her eyes. She blinked several times. It was too late to tell the truth: the Mark would never fade, no matter what. All Narcissa could do was cling onto the morbid hope that Draco would succeed in his task.

She flung herself at her son, in a poor excuse for an apology. Draco, however, stayed immobile.

"You think I can't do it, don't you?" he snapped.

Frustrated at how unwelcome her touch was, Narcissa let go. "Draco, you just don't understand, this is not about whether–"

"I will do it, Mother. And then he will reward us and you will be proud."

Narcissa sighed and looked away from Draco, away from the disquieting determination in his expression. It was then that she caught a glimpse of the book lying open near the hem of her robes. "This is supposed to be stored in the cellar, why is it here?"

"The Ministry's people have no reason to come after it," Bellatrix replied, "without Lucius to attract them."

Draco frowned at his aunt, but Narcissa ignored the snide remark. "Draco's not supposed to be reading this!" she said.

"He's been doing his homework, Cissy," said Bellatrix. "As a good boy should."

Narcissa looked daggers at her sister. "_Homework_? You've been teaching him these–" she fumbled for the right word, but everything that crossed her mind was too distressing to be said out loud. "Stay away from _my son_, Bellatrix," she said finally.

"A mission like Draco's requires preparation," retorted Bellatrix. "Or would you rather _your son_ died instead of the old fool?"

Narcissa got to her feet. "That's it, I'm going to seek help."

"Mother!" Draco protested.

"You can't, Cissy, we're not to tell anyone!" Bellatrix warned.

But Narcissa was not listening. "Severus, yes... He's one of his most loyal followers, he might–"

"_Snape?" _sneered Bellatrix. "You must be truly _desperate_ to go to _Snape_ for help."

"If desperate times call for desperate measures," said Narcissa, "then I'm free to act as desperately as I wish." And she put up the hood of her cloak, ready for another trip.

"No, wait, he can't be trusted!" Bellatrix reached for her sister's arm in a swift movement, but Narcissa had already Disapparated.

* * *

_AN: Yay, a "Thor 2" reference – yes, I started writing this when that film came out and only finished now. Don't forget to review! :)_


	4. IV

_AN: After another long hiatus, here I am..._

_Word count: 1,145_

* * *

IV

"_Legilimens!"_

Draco nearly tripped down the stone steps leading to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, but was agile enough to block the surprise attack on his thoughts.

His aunt's deranged laugh echoed all around the room for a moment, and then she swiftly regained her composure. "Very good," crooned Bellatrix, stepping out of the shadows. "It's rare that a wizard your age makes so much progress in Occlumency..."

Her sarcasm was not lost on Draco, who knew the apparent compliment was in fact a teasing reminder of the humiliation he had been put through during their last lesson. He had found it considerably quicker to learn the Mind Arts when failure resulted in someone gleefully snooping through his most embarrassing memories.

"But today we shall get back to the Unforgivables," she continued. "Now that you have mastered the Imperius, we can move on to the next curse."

"The Cruciatus," said Draco.

"Precisely," his aunt confirmed. Her face lit up with hellish excitement when she added, "My favourite."

Bellatrix walked over to the middle of the room, where an enormous opaque sphere floated above the ground. Draco followed her, eyeing the object curiously until she began her lecture.

"As you already know, the Cruciatus is the Torture Curse. It inflicts severe, _unbearable_ pain upon its victim, makes them writhe in agony as the pain invades their very souls and overpowers their humanity. Repeated or prolonged usage of the curse might even cause..." She sniggered. "...permanent mental injury. Imagine roaming the Earth as a soulless shell with not a trace of sanity... A fate _far_ worse than death, haha!"

In the dark, cold environment of the cellar and in the disturbing presence of his aunt, thinking of Longbottom's parents' story made Draco cringe inside a bit.

"The curse was created in the Middle Ages," Bellatrix went on, "when magic was immensely more fun, and made illegal in the 18th century. Nowadays it seems only the Dark Lord's followers have the _guts_ to use it. That is, people like me... And you, Draco. Now let's get to work."

With a flourish of her wand the floating sphere dissolved into thin air and let what it contained plop onto the ground. It was one of Draco's father's white peacocks. Confined between those oppressive stone walls, away from the Manor's opulent gardens, the bird appeared much less regal.

"Allow me to demonstrate." Bellatrix happily pointed her wand at the creature and her tongue seemed to caress the incantation as she spoke it, "_Crucio!"_

The peacock's shrill screech made Draco jump. Wailing like a miniature banshee, the bird started contorting its body into all sorts of bizarre positions, stretching and then curling in on itself, bending its joints the wrong way...

When Bellatrix lifted the curse, it scurried away to a corner, trembling in fear. The Dark witch watched the frightened animal with satisfaction. "Now you try it," she said.

Draco took a few confident steps towards his target and cast the spell, "_Crucio!"_

The peacock tilted its head and blinked.

Bellatrix snorted. "You must _mean_ it, Draco. _Rejoice_ at the victim's suffering."

"_Crucio!"_

Nothing.

Two failed attempts were enough to trigger Bellatrix's impatience. "You are leading me to deem you unworthy of a task of this magnitude," she said, but with a sigh, added "However, it is not my place to question the Dark Lord's wishes; my place is to ensure you honour your duties. Imagine it's a Mudblood; that girl who always beats you at school, for instance."

Draco frowned, but kept his focus. "_Crucio!"_

The bird jumped and made a short sound, as if startled.

"That's pathetic, Draco!" Bellatrix could no longer restrain herself. "I'll show you again how it's done!"

Draco fixed his gaze on the peacock, anticipating a spectacle of suffering that would put to shame the wails he had elicited from the bird.

_"Crucio!" _Bellatrix bellowed.

Draco heard his own scream as if had come from someone else. His body was no longer his; pain was the master of the limbs helplessly thrashing on the floor. He could feel his very mind being replaced with the all-consuming desperation that struck his every nerve.

When his aunt was satisfied, Draco got to his feet short of breath.

"How dare you!" he yelled.

"Quiet, boy!" Bellatrix ordered. "That was nothing compared to what you'll get from the Dark Lord if you don't start acting like a real Death Eater!"

"I shall give the Dark Lord no reason to punish me," said Draco emphatically.

But Bellatrix remained scornful: "Judging by your performance so far, he will find plenty of reasons."

Draco crossed his arms in an attempt to control his temper. "You said yourself that I was making good progress," he said through gritted teeth.

"Why, boy, a few hexes and minor curses are not nearly enough to carry out the Dark Lord's bidding!"

Draco was well aware his skills encompassed far more than 'a few hexes and minor curses', but it seemed futile to try and put reason against his aunt's furious madness. He would show her what he was capable of when the time came, and let the Dark Lord be the judge of his magical abilities.

Instead of arguing, he said, "Mother will hear about what you've done."

Bellatrix threw her head back and let out a howling cackle, and the sound slowly morphed into a growl. She grabbed her nephew by the arm and brought him inches away from her face.

Draco could almost see Fiendfyre burning in the depths of her obsidian eyes, threatening to engulf him.

"This is no child's play, Draco." She kept her voice to a hiss. "Mummy can't help you this time. Mummy is terrified that her life lies in the hands of her wimp of a son, and Daddy is rotting in Azkaban, because he is as much of a failure as you."

Draco felt his blood boil. A hot bubble of violent emotion grew rapidly inside him, demanding all of his self-control to keep from exploding.

"Your imbecile of a father may have tarnished the Malfoy name, but I, as you mentor, will not let you do the same to _my_ name within the Dark Lord's circle!" Bellatrix's irate screams filled the room with amplified power. "Now do it, Draco, _do it_!"

He pointed his wand at the peacock and shouted, _"Crucio!"_

Finally the helpless bird let out a series of ear-piercing screams and twisted itself in a frenzy. Draco imagined the delirious sounds issuing from his aunt's lungs and in the feverish blur of white feathers, he saw wild black tresses and leather-covered limbs.

"That's better," said Bellatrix. "But next time I might not be there to induce a tantrum." She took the skin of her nephew's cheek between her black-varnished talons and pulled like she wanted to rip it from his face. "_Grow up_, Draco."

* * *

_AN: Don't forget to review; ConCrit is appreciated :)_


End file.
